


Capsule

by bitter_Cake



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Flustered Shiro (Voltron), Getting Together, Keith likes to tease Shiro, Living Together, M/M, Sheithlentines 2019, kosmo is a good boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_Cake/pseuds/bitter_Cake
Summary: They stumble into Shiro's quarters battle-worn and weary, and they can’t stop touching each other. Shiro has always been tactile—Keith is used to shoulder squeezes, to crushingly tight hugs and the reassuring heat of Shiro’s hand against his lower back. But this feels different.This istenderness.





	Capsule

They stumble into Shiro’s quarters battle-worn and weary, and they can’t stop touching each other. Shiro has always been tactile—Keith is used to shoulder squeezes, to crushingly tight hugs and the reassuring heat of Shiro’s hand against his lower back. But this feels different.

This is _tenderness_.

The war is over. Zarkon is dead. Lotor is dead. And finally, Honerva is dead.

Far too many others are also dead, but Keith doesn’t want to dwell on that. Not tonight. Earth is safe—the paladins and their families are safe. And Shiro—Shiro is safe.

At last. 

The minute they step over the threshold Keith feels a calmness envelope him. It wraps around him like a feather duvet, muffling the ringing in his ears and smoothing out the tension in his shoulders.

Shiro is nosing at the nape of Keith’s neck and swaying slightly— the exhaustion finally taking hold. His hands come up to rest on Keith’s hips, and wow, he must be more tired than Keith realised. 

Keith tenses abruptly, almost stepping completely away when Shiro places the faintest of kisses to the top of his spine. His lips linger for a moment before he slumps down— his full body weight causing Keith to stagger forwards. Keith shakes his head to chase away old dreams. Shiro is so tired, he seems to have forgotten who he’s with. 

“Easy there.”

“Mmm.”

Keith twists, slotting his arm around Shiro so they both don’t go crashing to the floor.  
Shiro _looks_ exhausted. His face is filthy—skin sweat tacky and dusted with blood, dirt and ash. Keith thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Shiro gives him the smallest of smiles. It’s so small, another person wouldn’t notice— but Keith knows Shiro better than anyone, and this smile reaches his eyes. It’s a smile just for Keith. 

“Come on.” He says, hauling Shiro upright so that they aren’t in danger of collapsing, “Time for bed, Old Timer.”

Shiro opens his mouth, but clearly fails to think of a clever retort. Instead, he exhales long and slow. The fly-away hairs framing Keith’s face tickle his skin in the wake of it.

Together, they shuffle towards the bed. Keith wrenches the duvet back and they both tumble onto the mattress, rolling to face the ceiling.

For a moment, they just lie there in silence. Keith stares at the speckled grey pattern on the ceiling and tries to think of nothing.

After a few minutes, Shiro’s breathing starts to change—each new breath coming deeper and slower than the last. Keith watches the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest for a short while, loathe to disturb the tranquillity that is settling over them. But they’re still wearing their battle armour and the bed is small enough as it is.

He turns towards Shiro and brings a hand up to cradle his face. Softly, Keith whispers his name, but Shiro doesn’t stir.

“Shiro,” he tries again, “C’mon—You gotta take off your armour for me.”

Nothing.

Keith sighs and pushes up onto his elbows. Shiro looks so goddamned peaceful.

Carefully, Keith climbs over him and, as quietly as possible, he removes his armour. Once he’s down to his shirt and boxers he decides that’s enough. They can just change the sheets tomorrow.

He rolls Shiro onto his side so he can reach the seal on his armour suit. Once he presses the release button, he attempts to remove the armour without disturbing Shiro. He successfully manages to loosen it, but there’s no way he can get it off completely without waking him.

With a resigned sigh, he kneels beside the bed and tries again.

“Shiro, please. Just take your armour off and we can sleep.”

Still nothing. Keith sighs, far too exhausted for annoyance, and starts to pet Shiro’s hair.

“Mmm….Keith?”

Shiro’s voice is thick and groggy.

“Yeah, it’s me. Can you sit up for me, just for a second?”

Keith slides his arm round Shiro’s shoulders and hoists him up. Together they make quick work of his armour— it lands with a _clunk_ on the ground, the helmet rolling away almost to the door.

“Budge up a bit.” Keith says, gently pushing at Shiro’s back so that he can nestle into the duvet.

He grunts in response but wiggles gracelessly until he’s settled closer to other side of the bed. Keith folds in behind him, tucking an arm around Shiro’s waist and pressing the lengths of their bodies together.

They are asleep within minutes.  
*

A stillness permeates the room when Keith blinks awake in the morning. He listens carefully, but he can hear no boots stomping along the corridor, no crackly-electric voice shouting over the intercom. No cries from wounded soldiers.

For the first time in months, the Atlas is quiet.

Keith is sweating. It takes him a moment to realise why—Shiro’s prosthetic arm is draped over his torso, and it’s radiating an unnatural heat. Keith wriggles so that the arm slips down to his waist where it sits much more pleasantly. He’s never known Shiro’s arm to burn like this before— they should probably have removed it last night, but it’s a wonder they even got their armour off.

Shiro grumbles in his sleep, stirring behind Keith. He wonders at what point during the night they switched positions. Keith presses backwards, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth when Shiro groans softly in response.

“Mmm. Morning Shiro.”

“ _Ohh…_ ” Shiro rolls his hips against Keith’s ass, though it seems he’s not yet fully awake.

In the past, Keith wouldn’t have known what to do in this situation. Although, in the past, Keith would have never ended up in this position in the first place— wrapped in the arms of the man he loves, having spent the night together. Admittedly, not in the sense that Keith would like.

But, last night—last night Shiro had kissed him.

They were both bone weary and exhausted from war, and Shiro had kissed Keith for the first time. The memory of Shiro’s lips pressed against his spine gives Keith the courage to finally pursue this.

He grabs Shiro’s Altean arm and pulls it around to press against his stomach.

“ _Oh..._ ” Shiro grinds hard into Keith’s ass, and Keith pushes back in response. 

They lie like that for a while, rolling languidly together, until abruptly, Shiro goes still—he must have woken up properly.

“Keith?” he asks.

Keith rolls around. He hopes Shiro can find the answer to his question in Keith’s face.

He must, because Shiro smiles and leans in for a kiss.

And this…this is new.

The moment their lips touch, Keith is possessed by the urgency of his feelings. They crawl up from his gut and get stuck in his throat. He fears that if he pulls back, he’ll say something unintelligible, so he just kisses Shiro harder.

This is the first time this thing between them has ever been acknowledged— this thing that has been burning like a fire under the surface of Keith’s skin since the day he decided he would rather die than live in a world without Shiro.

In the nights since that day, Keith has often lain awake, enveloped in the memory of how he felt during the fall. His place is by Shiro's side— even if that place is nestled below the derelict ruins of a clone facility.

Keith pours the frustrations of those nights into the kiss. He hopes Shiro can feel it.

He’s forgotten about how dirty they both are, the urgency for a shower chased away by the feeling of Shiro’s lips against his own. He runs his fingers through the close-cropped hair at the back of Shiro's head and the answering smile he feels against his mouth gives him strength to ask the question that has plagued him for months. 

"So, not like a brother then?"

Shiro pulls back, confusion wrinkling his brow.

"What?"

Slowly, Keith runs his thumb along Shiro's bottom lip. He's wondered what these lips would feel like for years.

"I told you I loved you like a brother," he says, carefully eyeing Shiro's reaction, but Shiro says nothing. For a moment, he only looks at Keith. He stares until the wrinkle in his brow eventually smooths away.

Then, he pulls the tip of Keith's thumb into his mouth, sucking gently.

Keith shivers.

"Shiro?"

Shiro’s tongue traces the pad of his thumb, before he pulls off with a soft _pop_.

"No, baby. This isn't very brotherly."

He leans forward and cradles Keith's face with both of his hands.

"Is that okay?" he asks.

It's more than okay, and Keith knows they should probably talk about it some more. About all of it— the nights in between that night and this moment, and the days where they didn't talk at all and Keith felt as though the world were crumbling around him.

He surges forward and captures the mouth he's been fantasising about for years in a deep kiss. The moment their tongues touch, Keith can't help the guttural groan that escapes him. His stomach twists sharply and suddenly he's frantic, clawing at the layers of material that prevent Keith from feeling the hot press of Shiro's skin against his own.

He pulls back, barely holding back a whimper when he sees the thread of saliva that strings between their mouths.

Keith takes Shiro’s desperate pulling at his tank top as a direction and rolls on top of him. Shiro's hands come up to rest on Keith's thighs, and he looks up at Keith through his lashes. He looks...shy, suddenly. His cheeks are flushed a violent red underneath all the dirt and he's fidgeting with the hem of Keith's boxers.

So, Keith leans forward, kisses Shiro softly and says;

"How could this ever not be okay?"

When he palms Shiro through his boxers, it makes him _whine_.

"I think we need to get you out of this."

Shiro nods, bites his lip and pushes himself upright.

Keith takes his time removing Shiro’s clothes. His urgency still runs hot, but he wants to relish this, the first time. So, every new inch of skin that is revealed, Keith showers with kisses.

He can't help but run his hands all over Shiro's body, _everywhere_ , wherever he can reach. Keith used to think that he could paint Shiro’s body from memory, if he had the skill. Now, he realises, he never had the full picture.

As he explores Shiro, he notices things he could never have known before. Like the softness of the skin on Shiro's stomach, or how even the lightest brush over his nipples makes him gasp. Or the tiny mole behind his right ear that is _begging_ to be kissed.

Keith promises to himself that he will spend the rest of the day committing all these new discoveries to memory.

When they are finally both naked, Shiro is flushed entirely red from Keith’s efforts. 

His cock is also red, pearls of glistening pre-cum gathered at the tip that Keith can’t wait to taste. But before he does that, he runs his hands over Shiro’s chest once more, marvelling at the raw power contained in the muscles beneath his skin.

"Ngnn... _Keith!_ "

Keith is drawn back from his wanderings by the desperation in Shiro’s voice. He is, somehow, _ruined_ already—his face bright red and mouth slicked wet and panting.

When they do make eye contact, Shiro _whines_. Loudly. His eyes are glassy and unfocused.

He's pushing up into Keith's hand in little abortive thrusts that make Keith want to swallow him whole. He's never heard Shiro so _uninhibited_ before.

Keith wriggles down the bed, pushing Shiro's thighs apart and settling onto his stomach between them.

He wants to make Shiro lose control.

"Keith? Baby? What are you— _oh!_ "

The tip of Shiro's cock hits the back of his throat and for a glorious few seconds it's the best sensation Keith has ever felt in his life. And then he starts coughing. He pulls off carefully, peppering Shiro with little apology kisses and licks over the tip whilst he catches his breath.

"Fuck! _Fuck, Keith!_ I've never— I h-haven't— Have y-you— _Oh fuck—_ "

Shiro's garbling trails off into a moan as Keith takes him into his mouth again.

Oh, but Keith loves this. Loves the taste of Shiro, salty and heavy on his tongue. Loves the way Shiro's thighs are shaking beneath his palms, and the way his hands are curling and uncurling in the sheets— pulling them taut and away from the mattress.

Keith grabs blindly for Shiro’s hand, intertwines their fingers.

"Keith, I'm gonna— ah!"

Shiro claws at his shoulders, so Keith pulls off and lets them both catch their breath. He rests his head against Shiro’s stomach and pets softly at his hip bone. Eventually, Shiro calms down.

"Sorry, Keith. I—” He takes a lock of Keith’s hair and twirls it through his fingers, “I've never done this before."

"What?" Keith pushes back abruptly, "Shit, I'm sorry Shiro. I should have asked! I-"

"No, no! Don't apologize Keith. There’s no need,” Shiro pushes himself up so that he can see Keith properly, “Not for making me feel… this.” He smiles coyly even as his skin blushes furiously.

“You don’t need to apologise for anything. Not with me, not ever.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. "Ever? I'm pretty sure I'll have to apologise at some point."

Shiro takes Keith’s hand. "At some point maybe," he says, kissing Keith's knuckles one by one, "But not today."

"No? Shiro…are you sure you’re okay with this?" Keith asks.

Shiro nods. There is a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he winds Keith’s hair slowly around his fist. He tugs a little, the movement pushing Keith’s head down slightly. It makes Keith gasp and he flits his eyes up to Shiro—he seems to be making himself comfortable again. Keith gets the idea.

Shiro pushes him down, and Keith’s stomach jumps, pleasantly surprised at the authority behind the move. He settles back between Shiro’s thighs, takes a hold of his cock, and makes sure Shiro is looking at him when he says;

"Want you to come in my mouth."

Shiro groans but is unable to say anything more as Keith gets back to working him with his mouth and tongue. The louder Shiro moans, the harder Keith gets, and soon enough he’s thrusting against the rough fabric of the bedsheet. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life, but luckily Shiro lasts only a few more minutes before he is spurting down the back of Keith’s throat.

“Fuck, _baby, you’re so good— ah!_ ”

He grasps Keith’s hair so tightly that it hurts. It only makes Keith thrust against the bedsheets harder.

He cleans Shiro’s cock with gentle kitten licks that make his hips squirm, but Keith doesn’t want to stop yet.

“Baby, ah—stop, it’s too much. Stop— c’mere.”

Shiro pulls at him until they are kissing again, holding Keith’s head steady with both hands, and Keith gets a thrill at the thought of Shiro tasting himself on Keith’s tongue.

He’s rolling his dick against the firm pressure of Shiro’s thigh. He doesn’t think he’ll need much longer, but he wants to feel Shiro touch him.

“Please, Shiro.”

“Mmm. Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you.”

Shiro’s hand closing around him feels better than any of Keith’s fantasies ever did. He burrows his face into Shiro’s neck and pants against his skin. He doesn’t look down, but out of the corner of his eye he can see Shiro’s arm moving and it makes Keith’s stomach twist with pleasure.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Shiro rasps, lips brushing against Keith’s temple, “How long I’ve wanted you?”

Keith thinks he might know, but he’s not sure he could put it into words. He just pushes his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder and whimpers.

“Keith, look at me.”

Keith can’t look, he’s too overwhelmed— too scared of what he’ll say if he does. And he’s so close to the edge, just a little more and he’ll—

“Baby,” Shiro says softly, tilting Keith’s chin up so he has no choice but to look at Shiro.

Keith’s orgasm hits him in a powerful wave, and he can do nothing but cling to Shiro and ride it out. His release slicks the way for his dick through Shiro’s palm and it sends another shiver down his spine, even as the waves of his climax subside.

When he’s finished, he flops to the side so that he’s nestled under Shiro’s arm.

He supposes they’ll have to get up at some point. They need to shower, and there are so many things that need dealt with. But Keith still isn’t ready to think about work.

“Keith?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you bring your stuff here before I woke up?”

“Huh?”

“Your stuff. It’s here.”

“What?”

Keith rolls over, craning his neck to see what on earth Shiro is talking about. Sure enough, his stuff _is_ here.

Sitting on top of the cabinet, are the only three photographs Keith owns. There’s the old one of him and his dad at the fire station— Keith’s five-year old head half hidden by a bright yellow firefighter hat. The other two are more recent—one is of him and his Mom, uniform clad and smiling awkwardly at the camera.

The last is of him and Shiro, and it’s Keith’s favourite.

“Well.” He says, because he doesn’t have a clue how they got here.

Shiro rolls to grab a tissue from the bedside drawers. He starts to wipe his hands, but pauses mid-clean.

“Um. Your underwear is here too.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Keith climbs over him to get a look. Shiro wheezes, “Hey—!”, as Keith accidentally uses his stomach for leverage.

Keith can’t believe his eyes. His boxers are neatly folded and slotted upright like little soldiers in the bedside drawer, right next to Shiro’s. He pulls open then next drawer down, and finds his socks arranged by colour.

He leaves the drawer open and leans back to look at Shiro. Of all the strange things they’ve seen (especially in the last few hours), this doesn’t come near the top of the weirdest. Nonetheless, Keith doesn’t want to give Shiro the wrong impression.

“Um. Sorry about that,” he says awkwardly, “Maybe it was Kosmo?”

“Wow, Kosmo has good folding skills.” Shiro says, clearly suppressing laughter.

“Right. Well, don’t worry about it, I’ll take them back with me later,” he says, sitting upright and stretching his arms above his head. He carries on stretching for a minute or two before Shiro says;

“Or, you could not.”

“What?”

“You could not,” he repeats, but Keith is still confused. Shiro shuffles upright and takes hold of Keith’s hand. Starts to massage the tendons before he continues speaking.

“Leave your things here. You…don’t take them back. Stay.”

It takes Keith a moment to process what Shiro is saying, but when he finally works it out, the smile that breaks out is so big that he worries that his face will get stuck that way.

Keith thinks he might like it if it did.

 

  
*  
“Kolivan stopped by earlier.”

Keith is barely in the door when he’s hit with the mouth-watering smell of grilled cheese. Shiro is over by their kitchenette, wiping down the counter top. He’s wearing a “kiss the cook” apron, a pair of tracksuit pants, and nothing else.

“Your new uniform is on the bed,” he says, kneeling to peer under the grill.

Sure enough, there is a neatly folded pile of sleek, black material atop their bed. Keith heads over to inspect it, holding the uniform up to the light for a better look. It seems deceptively soft for the kind of armour he’ll be needing, but he trusts Matt’s wild material engineering. He sits down on the bed and eases off his training suit, flopping backwards once he’s down to his underwear.

Keith loves Shiro’s bed. Shiro says it’s too soft— that it doesn’t give enough back support, but Keith thinks it’s like sleeping on a giant marshmallow.

They never found out how Keith’s stuff ended up in Shiro’s room. Keith had chalked it down to forgetfulness—when he’d returned to his room, most of his things were still there. Since then, a lot more it has migrated to Shiro’s room.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Shiro says, removing his apron and settling onto the bed beside Keith.

“Starved.”

“Tough day?”

“Mmm. These new recruits are a lot of work.” 

That’s an understatement. Keith rubs between his eyebrows, attempting to soothe the crinkled frown that has been etched into his skin since this morning. One of the new recruits somehow managed to accidentally stab himself in the thigh. Twice.

“Mac and cheese will help.”

“You found real cheese?” Keith says, springing upright with excitement. “Wow, being Captain of the Atlas really does have its perks.”

“Like you don’t have your fair share.” 

Shiro nods towards Keith’s new uniform— Keith is now officially the BOM leader for this quadrant of the galaxy.

“Still not as many perks as you, Captain,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Shiro urges him to turn around and Keith goes easily. When Shiro starts rubbing his shoulders, the groan that escapes Keith is almost pornographic, but it feels so good he can’t bring himself to care.

“ _Ohhh…_ fuck, yes, there.”

Shiro digs his thumbs in and keeps the pressure steady.

“Nobody finds _me_ real cheese,” he says, pushing back against Shiro’s thumbs, “Cheese is reserved for the Captain.”

Shiro presses a kiss to his shoulder. “If only it were,” he says, wrapping his arms around Keith’s middle. “It’s still the fake stuff, sadly.”

“It’s still your mac and cheese,” Keith retorts, detangling himself from Shiro’s grasp. He rolls and stretches out on the bed, bending his spine and pushing his ass into the air. He twists his neck to relieve the tension that has been gathering there all day. Pleased, he notices Shiro’s eyes tracing the length of his body.

“How long ‘till it’s ready?” he asks, grabbing Shiro and hauling them both onto their feet.

“It should be ready. C’mon, let’s check,” Shiro says, bending down to give Keith a soft peck on the cheek.

The dish that comes out of the grill has a beautiful, golden crust that Keith can’t wait to break into. They take their plates over to their little two-man table, but as soon as Keith lifts his fork, a loud _pop!_ sounds beside him, making him jump. Luckily, he doesn’t drop the fork, but he does struggle to keep his ass on the seat when Kosmo settles his giant head on Keith’s shoulder—ears pinned back, and puppy eyes working overtime for a taste of Shiro’s macaroni.

“You’re getting way too big for that trick, boy,” Keith says, though his voice lacks any real sternness. He pets Kosmo behind the ear and gets one broad lick across half of his face as a thank you.

“Pasta isn’t for space wolves,” he says, pushing Kosmo off his lap.

Kosmo whimpers and paws at his leg. Keith’s resolve isn’t going to last much longer and Kosmo knows it.

They have a brief staring contest— Keith’s resilience weakening by the second in the face of Kosmo’s round eyes and the sweep of his tail across the floor.

He’s about to break when Shiro plonks a bowl onto the floor in front of Kosmo.

“Hey!”

“You were about to break, baby,” Shiro says, grinning as he takes his seat again.

Keith pouts. “Yeah.”

“You can’t refuse that wolf anything.” 

Privately Keith thinks that Shiro is no better than him when it comes to Kosmo.

The first mouthful has them groaning and together, they polish off two bowls each (including Kosmo).

“I still don’t know how you do that with the fake stuff,” Keith says, grateful he’s removed any restriction around his stomach.

“It’s not so hard,” Shiro replies, but a tell-tale pinkness is beginning to creep into his skin. Shiro is so easy to fluster, and Keith loves to get him there. A well-placed compliment is usually a good place to start.

Shiro takes both of their bowls and places them both in front of Kosmo.

“He’s like having our own dishwasher.”

They watch as Kosmo begins to lick the bowls enthusiastically. 

Under the table, Keith lifts his feet so that they rest in Shiro’s lap. Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, and Keith wiggles his toes in response until Shiro huffs half-heartedly, as if to say “fine, you win” and starts to massage Keith’s feet.

Keith slinks back into the seat and they sit for a while, letting comfortable silence drain away the stresses of the day. Kosmo lies half under the table (he barely fits under there, but he seems unaware of how big he is these days) licking away all traces of cheese sauce.

“One of the cadets stabbed themselves in the thigh today.”

Shiro’s fingers pause in their efforts.

“Oh?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Twice.”

“Double shit. How on earth did they manage that?”

Keith shakes his head. “Long story.”

Shiro nods, and it’s quiet again for a few more minutes. Keith thinks back on the day—it wasn’t as stressful as some of the days he had this week.

“It was nice when you came to help with the training today,” he says.

“Mmm.” Shiro’s disapproval evident.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” Keith teases, knowing full well why Shiro is annoyed.

Shiro huffs and digs his fingers particularly hard into the sole of Keith’s foot.

“Ow! Hey— but I was so nice to you!”

Shiro blushes furiously and grunts, “Too nice.”

Keith gasps in mock offence.

“Too nice?” he pulls his feet out of Shiro’s grasp and leans forward to rest his chin on his hands—the picture of innocence.

“Those cadets are going to think I’m a blundering idiot,” Shiro says shaking his head.

“What? Why would they think that?” 

Keith tries, rather unsuccessfully, to hide his laughter.

“Because you made me a blundering idiot!” Shiro snaps back, but there is no real venom in it.

“Me?” Keith replies, deliberately making his voice sickly sweet, “But I was just sitting at the back, enjoying your presentation.”

“Enjoying that fucking lollipop.”

“Mmm, yes,” Keith says. And just to make Shiro blush some more, he says “And you.”

Shiro splutters, and Keith pats him on the shoulder before getting up to make for the bathroom. Before leaving, he throws a sly glance over his shoulder.

“You do look so handsome when you blush, Captain,” he says, teasing, finally letting a full blown laugh escape as Shiro glows red and shouts at his retreating back.

*

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“Shiro. I’m _fine._. Stop fussing.”

“ _Fussing! Keith! You nearly—_.” Shiro bites his words away and abruptly stops daubing at Keith’s wound.

“Just let me do this,” he says as his hand encircles Keith’s wrist, thumb stroking gently back and forth over the blue shadow of veins hiding there. 

Keith takes in his appearance—he’s not bloody, or even all that dirty— nothing but the slight sheen of sweat and something in his stature makes it obvious that Shiro is straight from the battle. He’s shaking slightly, and Keith is shocked to realise that Shiro is _scared_.

“Okay,” he says softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against Shiro’s forehead.

When he pulls back, Shiro’s eyes are closed. He breathes a “thank you” and continues cleaning Keith’s wound. It’s not even that big—a small scratch across his forearm—Keith’s certainly had worse before, but from the way Shiro’s acting, you’d think Keith was on his deathbed.

Shiro carefully cleans him up, then wraps the wound in a bandage. He checks no less than three times if the wrapping is too tight. All three times Keith tells him the bandage is fine.

Once he’s done, Shiro finally sits back. He sighs and flashes Keith an exhausted half-smile that makes Keith’s heart hurt.

“I’ll get you some pain killers.”

The bed creaks as he heads to the kitchen.

Keith is confused. The battle today was nothing compared to what they’ve taken on in the past— a small base of resistant Galra not far from Earth. The mission hadn’t even taken them that long, and the sword that nicked Keith was just lucky. He was never in any real danger.

But the moment they’d returned to the Atlas and Shiro had noticed the cut, he’d been acting like Keith had thrown himself in front the blade on purpose.

Shiro returns with a glass of water and a handful of pills.

“Here.”

Shiro watches intently as Keith puts the pills in his mouth and chases them back with some water. Once he’s swallowed them down, Shiro visibly relaxes.

“Shiro, I’m _fine_ ,” he repeats.

Shiro looks away sharply. His jaw looks tense like his teeth are grit hard together.

Keith frowns and shuffles closer, pressing his forehead to Shiro’s temple.

“Really,” he says, bringing Shiro’s hand up and flattening it against his chest, against the beat of his heart, “See?”

Shiro breathes out long and slow, turns to rest their foreheads together.

“I…” he starts, then snaps his jaw closed with an audible _clickcan’t_ lose you.”

The shake of his voice makes Keith pause. He pulls back and waits for Shiro to continue.

Shiro looks up to meet Keith’s eyes before speaking again.

“You’ve saved me so many times,” he says, words laced with a determination that Keith doesn’t understand.

Keith smiles anyway and says, “Of course. As many times as it takes.”

“I know, Keith.” Shiro smiles the smallest smile and grabs both of Keith’s hands to hold between his own. “As many times as it takes. But…”

Keith tilts his head. Shiro somehow looks small and resigned hunched before him on this bed. Keith would do anything in the world to stop Shiro feeling like this, if he could. As it is, he waits for Shiro to finish what he’s saying.

“I’ve never managed—I should have protected you, before.”

“Shiro—” Keith starts, shocked, but Shiro shushes him.

“Let me finish, Keith.”

Keith bites his lip and nods.

“When Zethrid had you, had you trapped on the edge of that cliff— I couldn’t—I _didn’t_ do anything,” he finishes, gaze dropping to settle at his feet.

“Shiro,” Keith starts, but Shiro holds a hand up to stop him. 

“I’m sorry Keith.” He continues, determined, though his voice is beginning to shake. ” I should have helped you then, but I was too…. I don’t even know. I should have helped but I didn’t, and you could have…”

His words trail off and he squeezes his eyes tight shut.

Keith gapes. He hadn’t realised Shiro was holding onto this. It seems they have more to talk about than Keith had anticipated.

He tilts Shiro’s chin up, presses a kiss to his mouth.

“Shiro, you have saved me so many times.”

“But I—”

“No, baby. You have no idea how many times you’ve saved me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, Shiro.”

Shiro frowns at him. He clearly wants to say more, but Keith kisses him deeply before he does.

Keith feels Shiro relax somewhat— his shoulders dropping down slightly and his body melting into Keith the longer they kiss.

When they pull apart, Keith climbs into Shiro’s lap.

“You don’t have to apologise for that day,” he says, running his hands into Shiro’s hair. “You wouldn’t have been able to do anything for me without putting yourself in danger, Shiro.”

“No, Keith, I should have—“

“No, baby. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt trying to save me.”

Shiro pulls back, frowning.

“And what about the other way around, Keith? You were going to _die_ with me!”

Keith kisses him.

“Yes,” he says, lips moving against Shiro’s, “I was.”

Shiro jerks his head back, narrows his eyes at Keith.

“And where would we be if I had?” Keith asks, sighing as the words finally leave him, “Where would _all of us_ be?”

Shiro doesn’t answer.

“You did the right thing that day Shiro. I wasn’t the only one that needed you alive that day. I’m _still_ not the only one who needs you.”

Shiro’s eyes look suspiciously glassy, so Keith leans forward to kiss him again.

They kiss softly for a while but soon, the kisses build with intensity and Shiro’s hands find their way down the back of Keith’s pants.

He gasps into Shiro’s mouth, words escaping between kisses.

“I need you Shiro. I’ll _always_ need you.”

“ _Keith_.”

Shiro already sounds quite desperate, but before things go further, Keith pulls back.

He makes sure Shiro is looking at him and says what he’s felt for years.

“I love you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s face seems to collapse into happiness and if anything, his eyes get even more watery.

“I love you too, Keith.”

Keith’s stomach swoops and he lunges forward to capture Shiro’s mouth again, pushing him backwards onto the bed.

They scramble desperately for each other, clothes flying from the bed between kisses and hushed exhalations of “ _please_ ” and “ _baby_ ”.

“Keith, _Keith!_ I need you.”

Keith groans. “I need you too, baby.”

“No, Keith, I _need_ you. Need you inside me.”

_Fuck_.

“Of course, anything.”

“Now, Keith, please.”

Keith flails his arm around under the bed until his hand closes around the bottle of lube they keep there. He’s so wound up he squeezes out far too much and it runs down his hand to tickle his wrist. 

“Shit.”

“Keith, now!”

Shiro is lying back against a small mountain of pillows, though Keith has no idea when he assembled it. When Shiro realises he has Keith’s attention, he slowly parts his thighs, fingers grasping tight into the muscle and lifting for good measure.

He bites his lip and looks at Keith with eyes full of fire.

Keith stares until the drip of cold lube onto his thigh reminds him that he has a job to do.

The first finger goes in easy—Shiro is still stretched from last night. They groan in unison when the second finger goes in to the knuckle.

Keith presses a kiss to the soft inside skin of Shiro’s thigh.

“Fuck, you feel so good baby.”

“ _Keith!_ ”

“Soon,” he says, his own desire making his voice deep and rough. Shiro’s nails dig into his shoulders, and Keith absently thinks about the scratches he’ll find there later.

Keith works his fingers inside Shiro for as long as they can both hold off.

The first press of his cock inside Shiro has them both crying out. Keith takes hold of Shiro’s knees and holds him steady whilst he picks up a brutal pace with his hips.

Shiro takes all of it, pleased little huffs leaving him as the force of Keith’s thrust inch him slowly up the bed.

“I’ve got you,” Keith pants, collapsing forward to kiss Shiro as he continues thrusting.

Shiro’s nails bite into the flesh of Keith’s ass, making him shout out.

“Fuck! Shiro, I’ve got you. Need you too. Need you so much. Always.”

The words leave him in a garbled, desperate rush, but the incoherency doesn’t seem to bother Shiro—he’s picked up a low whine that makes Keith cock throb inside him.

Keith finds Shiro’s hands and pins them above his head, slowing down his thrusts finally, eager to prolong this.

“Shiro,” he whispers, “Look at me, baby.”

It takes him a moment, but Shiro’s eyes eventually blink open to focus on him.

“I love you, so much.”

Shiro lets out a high-pitched noise and surges forward to kiss Keith, biting down on his lower lip. Keith pushes back into the kiss and continues to thrust slowly as their mouths move together.

Shiro comes first, soaking Keith’s stomach and gasping into his mouth.

Keith’s orgasm rolls over him like a warm wave, lacing him with a contented sleepiness and an overwhelming feeling of safety as he comes, hard.

“Fuck, Keith, so good. Feel so good inside me. You’re so good to me. Love you so much, baby, you don’t even know.”

Once his cock has finally stopped pulsing deep inside Shiro, Keith collapses on top of him.

Shiro strokes his lower back as Keith comes down, happy, contented noises escaping him as they both drift out of consciousness.

*

Keith never feels the need to check his old room on the Atlas again. If he’d remembered to, he wouldn’t have found it anyway.

The following day, the rest of his stuff appears in Shiro’s quarters—looking for all the world like it’d been there all along. When they return from work that evening, the single bed they had woken in the morning is mysteriously gone, replaced by one squashy king-sized bed.

Neither of them say a word about it. They get ready for bed—Shiro in a pair of faded grey sweatpants and Keith in an old shirt of Shiro’s.

Kosmo settles at the end of the bed, and they both have to tuck their legs up to their chests so they don’t disturb him.

No matter how short the night, Keith sleeps soundly, tucked into Shiro’s side—he was made to fit there.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentines Day Wofuru! I hope you enjoy the fic as much as I enjoyed writing it -- Your prompts were so fun to work with!! 
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos are muchly appreciated.


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